Please Forgive Me
by Blue Dragon
Summary: LAST PART Rachel, in an alternate warending, gets caught by the dictatorial Union and the officer put in charge of her hasn't even heard of kindness. But there's more going on in the prison than that... and her long lost Tobias is a part of it.
1. Imprisoning and an Officer

Please Forgive Me  
  
  
  
  
  
"To hell with the Union!" Rachel barked as she was pushed into the room by the two soldiers. She heard a set of clicks as cuffs were placed around her wrists, and knew that they were attached to chains, and that the soldiers held one each.  
  
The Union was the first post-war human organisation. It was, pretty much, in charge of the planet. In a non-democratic, dictatorial, lousy way. And it didn't like opposition.  
  
Too bad, Rachel thought, where she stood on one side of a table. That was their problem. Because opposition they would get.  
  
The officer on the other side of the table leaned back in his chair, calmly chewing some green chewing gum - Rachel knew it was green because he didn't bother about keeping his mouth shut. He was a tall, square-shouldered man with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows to reveal strong arms. He drummed the fingertips of his unusually large hands against each other and watched Rachel with an almost curious expression.  
  
"That, my sweet, just cost you your dinner," he said. "Guards? Make a note of it. No dinner for the rebel."  
  
"I oughta go grizzly and tear this place apart, you… you…"  
  
"Do you want to loose your breakfast as well?!"  
  
"I wouldn't eat food from you if it was the last food on earth!" Rachel growled.  
  
The officer threw his head back and laughed. When he was done, he said; "Well, my sweet, it happens to be the last food on earth. Oh, and you would eat it. People who are hungry enough beg me to let them eat the dirt under my toenails. Even warriors from the Freedom War, like you. I knew a sister of yours. I believe her name was Sara…"   
  
Rachel flew forwards, shrieking with rage, being halfway across the table with fists clenched when the guards got a proper grip on the chains and pulled back sharply. They forced her down to her knees and one of them grabbed her shoulder to keep her there. The other grabbed her hair and pulled her head back until her neck almost snapped.  
  
The officer stood up, walked around the table and leaned down over her, so close that she could smell the chewing gum in his mouth. He smacked a few times with the gum, demonstrating that he was in no hurry whatsoever, before he continued; "Before she died - poor thing didn't do as she was told, she really brought that beating upon herself, you know - she ate what my pet Taxxon left."  
  
Rachel growled and tugged at the cuffs, but this time the guards were ready. A sharp tug at her hair and the next thing she knew she was sprawled on the floor. A boot hit her side, hard, making her gasp for air.  
  
She forced her eyes to focus and looked up at the face of the officer.  
  
"Scum."  
  
The officer pulled thoughtfully at his moustache. "Maybe we're being too nice to our latest prisoner. Give her a good beating before you leave her in her cell. Oh, and make it one of those empty rooms. We don't want to give her any furniture to hurt herself with. And the stone floor is good enough to sleep on. Right, my sweet?"  
  
"Who said I'm your sweet?"  
  
A flash of anger appeared on the officer's cold face. Then he pulled his leg back and kicked straight at Rachel's head. Her ears rang like a thousand bells and the edges of her vision blurred. The pain threatened to blow her head up, building quickly but never actually exploding. The world seemed far away, dim, as if it was just a movie she was watching.  
  
The officer grabbed her jaw, pulled her face up a bit, took out his chewing gum and placed it in her hair, smearing it out properly. Then he let her fall down and once again Rachel's head was hit, this time by the floor.  
  
"That's what I think of you," he spat, although Rachel barely hear him. "Be glad I'm in a good mood today, or I'd have done a lot more than just kick your cheap excuse for a head." He straightened, flexed his fingers as if wondering if he should close his hand to a fist and crush her nose, but deciding against it.  
  
"Hang her up in the ceiling," he said to the soldiers. "Keep an anti-morph ray on her. When she promises to accept whatever I chose to call her, take her down and give her some water. A small glass only, of course."  
  
Rachel was dragged out of the room. She was too dizzy to protest.  
  
A man came into the room from behind the mirrored glass wall.  
  
"She won't give in," he said silently. "You could let her hang until she rots, and she will promise you nothing."  
  
The officer, though, smiled. "You gave in," he said. "And I'd heard the same thing about you."  
  
There might have been anger in the man's eyes, but it was gone as soon as it had arrived, and he bent his head down to hide it.  
  
"We can't all be heroes, can we, Tobias?" the officer chuckled, watching him carefully. "No, we can't. Go take a walk or something until I need you."  
  
Tobias turned to leave the room. The officer slammed a hand down on the table, and the sound made Tobias jump. He stopped walking.  
  
"I didn't hear you. What did you say?" the officer turned towards him, threatening. "Or, more correctly, what didn't you say?"  
  
Tobias clenched his teeth together, but spoke in a clear voice; "Thank you for teaching me respect, master."  
  
The officer huffed. "You're welcome. Now leave."  
  
  
  
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Author's Note;  
  
There it is. Now write a horrible review that sends me cowering into a corner and stops me from putting any more of this up. Because I've got more of this, believe it if you want to. Not that anyone'll want to read it. 


	2. Teaching and Morning

Please forgive me  
  
  
  
  
  
"Good morning!!!!" a voice yelled in Rachel's ear.  
  
Rachel flinched, an action that put even more strain on the wrists she was hanging from, and opened her eyes.  
  
The officer grinned at her. "Oh," he said. "Look who's awake. I trust you've slept well? Let's hope so, because you're going to need it."  
  
Rachel sighed heavily. She hadn't slept at all, even though she was exhausted, even though her mind was sluggish with weariness. There had been no time for sleep after her capture, two days earlier. And before that she had been hunted by Union officials for almost a week, having them constantly snapping at her heels; to them it had been a game. She considered herself lucky to have been able to doze off a few times during the night - even if it had meant being beaten awake by the guards. The same guards who were now standing behind the officer, grinning almost as broadly as he was.  
  
"Do you want me to let you down again, my sweet?"  
  
Rachel said nothing. The tiredness, the pain in her side, and throbbing ache in her wrists and head kept her from throwing some snappish remark, but she was too proud to let him win by asking anything of him.  
  
"Are you thirsty?"  
  
When Rachel again remained silent, the officer slammed a fist into her stomach that sent her spinning. Geez, the man could hit like a Hork-Bajir! And again, increased pressure on her wrists.  
  
"Answer me!"  
  
Answer? Alright, then, Rachel thought, defiance springing up inside her. She'd answer.  
  
"Go fall off a cliff, dirtbag."  
  
Another blow in the stomach. Only this time, not as hard. "Good," said the officer. "An answer is always good. Remember that. Although that was the wrong answer. Right?"  
  
Rachel tried to turn her head to spit at him, but before she managed his hand was up and slapped her across the face, making her head spin as well as her body, where it hung limply in chains by her wrists.  
  
"Today, I'm going to each you something new," the officer said, motioning to his guards to bring a chair and sitting down in it. "Proper modes of address," he said, smiling. He pointed at the guards. "You don't speak to them. They don't speak to you. The only time you say anything to them, is screaming when they start beating you up."  
  
Rachel didn't even move at the remark, so the officer continued; "And me? Me, you call master. Every time I leave, I want to hear the following sentence; 'Thank you for teaching me respect, master.' Heard me?"  
  
Rachel forced a smile, and felt blood seeping into her mouth from somewhere higher up on her face. She wasn't sure from where. "Forget it."  
  
The officer reached forwards, calmly, grabbed her foot and yanked it down. Rachel bit hard into her lip and clenched her hands. The cuffs' sharp edges had already cut through skin, and now the wound deepened.  
  
"I know you can speak," the officer said, taking a glance at his watch. "So speak up. I want to know you've heard me. Say 'thank you for teaching me respect, master'."  
  
Rachel said nothing. She almost didn't feel when the next fist jammed into her ribs.  
  
"Speak up!"  
  
Silence. A yank at her foot.  
  
"I can't hear you!"  
  
He reached up, took a hold of her throat and pulled back the other fist. Rachel saw the blow hit her face, but she didn't feel it. She didn't feel either when blood trickled down her chin from her nose and mouth. She fell gratefully into a grey fog, only aware her body as a spectator would have been, as if it was far away.  
  
The officer tightened the hold on her throat, and pulled back his fist again, further this time.  
  
"Say something," he ordered.  
  
"Something," Rachel agreed.  
  
A smile spread over the officer's face. The grip on her throat disappeared, and the fist unclenched to pat her cheek gently.  
  
"Good girl," he said. "Now say 'thank you for teaching me respect, master.' And say it before I lose my patience again. I often lose my patience."  
  
Rachel nodded weakly. "Thank you for… teaching me…"  
  
The officer watched her carefully, eyes narrowed, as she took another breath to continue the sentence.  
  
"…how to hate, scumbag, you dirty…"  
  
The officer snatched her foot, yanked down as hard as he could, and Rachel's words were cut off by a scream. She let out a weak sob before a fist jammed into her ribs, making her gasp for air again.  
  
The officer pulled back. "Take her down," he said through gritted teeth. "Now."  
  
The two soldiers did as they were told, letting Rachel fall to the floor. Then they secured the chains again, so her arms still hung upwards but the rest of her was on the floor.  
  
"That, my sweet," the officer said, leaning down over her, a heavy boot pressing down on her forehead. "was the wrong thing to say."  
  
He kicked at her side. Not as hard as he could, but hard enough to make her cry out.  
  
The foot returned to her forehead. "Wasn't it?"  
  
He raised his leg for another kick, but Rachel pulled back from it, sobbing, trying to hide behind her arms.  
  
"It's only words," he continued, and stepped down heavily on her stomach, lifted the other foot off the ground, and remained there for what seemed a very long time before placing down his other foot on the ground again. Rachel's eyes rolled into the back of her head. "After all. Do you know what I believe? I believe that words have no meaning. I believe words are just a way to avoid getting blood on your knuckles."  
  
He leaned over her, smiling. "Only problem is, I like getting blood on my knuckles. So I'm not going to waste any more time talking. You can say those meaningless words and be a good girl, and you might even get some water to drink. Otherwise, I can give my fists the exercise they've been longing for. Did you hear me?"  
  
Rachel didn't move. A foot beat into her side again, and she cried out. She wasn't bothering about keeping her screams to herself anymore.  
  
"Are you going to speak up?" he asked.  
  
Not answering earned her a kick at her head. He waited for a few minutes, knowing that it would take some time before she was aware enough of her surroundings again.  
  
When her eyes fluttered open, he reached down to pull her up by hair, and pulled a fist back so she could see it.  
  
Rachel tried to focus her eyes but failed. "I'll speak… coward," she said.  
  
He ignored the insult and continued. "If you say one wrong word, my sweet, I'll personally beat you until this room is red with blood from floor to roof." He enforced the words by letting her drop to the floor and again kicking roughly at her side. "Got it?"  
  
Rachel nodded. Her gaze was a bit unsteady. She couldn't focus her eyes. She drew a deep breath, preparing to speak, still not sure if she would say what he wanted to hear or some snappish remark.  
  
"Sir!" a voice barked from the cell's doorway. "Sir, they need you in the conference room."  
  
The officer gritted his teeth and glared down at Rachel, indecisive, wondering if it was worth the anger of his superiors to spend some extra time on his prisoner.  
  
"Sir, they said you need to hurry."  
  
"Very well," said the officer, dropping Rachel's head to the floor. "I'm coming. Unchain her, give her some water. She's barely alive as it is now. She's no use dead."  
  
He left the room, giving Rachel one last kick just for his own amusement. She groaned, folded double, and closed her eyes, trying to focus on just breathing, shutting out everything else.  
  
The soldier stayed in the doorway, watching the two guards do what they had been told. Tobias stepped out from behind a bend in the corridor as soon as the muttering officer was gone, and walked up to the doorway. "Thank you," he said lowly to the soldier, making sure the two guards didn't hear him.  
  
"No problem," the soldier replied, although his eyes flickered back and forth uncertainly. "But we both better be gone when he returns."  
  
Tobias nodded and the two left as quickly as they could, disappearing off in different directions.  
  
  
  
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Author's Note;  
  
There it is, on request. Not that I understand why; I hate this story. I had it hidden away in a WinZip file with about fifteen dozen other half-done stories, that I'm not even going to consider putting up.   
  
But review if you want more of this, I think I got another part somewhere...   
  



	3. Thinking and the Past

Please forgive me  
  
  
  
  
  
Rachel fell asleep as soon as the chains were gone. No cold, stone floor had ever seemed so soft and inviting. When she woke, she found a paper cup filled with water in front of her, and hurried to drink its contents, not caring about the blood that accompanied it down, coming from cracks in her swollen lips.  
  
She had a throbbing headache, surely a few broken ribs, and her wrists were about three times their natural size, but at least she was alone.  
  
And in a place like that, alone was good.  
  
She pulled herself up to sit in a corner, leaning against the wall and legs pulled up so she could wrap her arms around them and lean her head against her knees. Tears started rolling down her face. At first she tried to stop them, but soon she gave up and let them run down her cheeks.  
  
It was a wonder she had stayed free as long as she had.  
  
The Union prison. The place every and any rebel dreaded as much as they ever had the Yeerk pools.  
  
The Union had seemed a good idea at first. The world united, and everyone fought the Yeerks. And the Yeerks were defeated. The Andalites helped - only a bit, but a very important such - and the Union was congratulated and showered with praise.  
  
Marco had always been against it, though. And when the Yeerks were gone, he convinced the other Animorphs and the warriors that had been fighting alongside them that they needed to go into hiding.  
  
He had seen what the Andalites and most of human kind had missed. The Andalite supporters if the Union, trying to help, had sent weapons. Shredders. Hunt-and-destroy hover crafts. Anti-morph rays that kept people from morphing, or from demorphing. It all had played a major part in defeating the by then morph-capable Yeerks. The Union became very powerful, in only months, and after a year or two the Yeerks were completely gone from Earth.  
  
But people in power are seldom willing to let go. As soon as the Andalites turned their back to earth to chase Yeerks somewhere else the Union Council started looking for "traitors". Anyone who had been a Controller, voluntary or not, was accused of treachery. Anyone who had, for even a few steps, backed down during a battle was accused of the same. Anyone who hadn't raised a war-cry against the parasites, down to the smallest children, was sentenced because of 'lack of belief in the One State'.  
  
The punishment to any of it was death.  
  
All the free fighting groups that had fought independent of the Union, like Jake's army, were accused for not supporting the cause. Of being rebellious to both sides instead of only to the Yeerks. Of trying to steal the Union's hard-earned glory.  
  
Again, the punishment was death.  
  
The rebellion had been instant. And just as quickly battered down. The Union still had hold of the hunt-and-destroy hover crafts, and against them foot soldiers - even morphable ones - were helpless.  
  
In the first few months, half the army had been hunted down and captured, or killed. No-one knew for sure. All the people left in camp each evening knew was that those that hadn't returned by nightfall, weren't going to return later, either.  
  
Sara had been one of the first to disappear. Only days after that, Tobias went missing as well. Marco had been shot down trying to keep his parents free. His parents were captured, despite that, as well as a group of the "new Animorphs".  
  
And one day, just a few months ago, Jake never returned to camp after going hunting for food. Cassie's parents were killed during a raid when she was away, searching for him, and when Cassie returned she was in wolf morph. She was still in wolf morph when she fled, howling, out of camp, after realising what had happened. She never returned to human. Or to camp.  
  
Rachel looked around the room. It was a few meters wide, about the same in length, and the roof was too high up for her to reach. In one of the top corners was the tiny gadget that was the anti-morph ray, a tiny red lamp signalling that it was still on. It refocused on her every time she moved, by using the motion detector next to it.  
  
If she'd been able to morph, she could have broken out easily. The door was made of steel, but nothing a grizzly would worry about for long. The crack underneath it was just wide enough for a cockroach to squeeze through. But as long as she couldn't morph…  
  
Rachel sighed, glaring up at the hated object. If she could reach it... they were easily destroyed, being fragile little things. But it was too far up. She would need to be about twice as tall to even dream about reach it.  
  
She leaned her head down towards her knees again and tried to clear her head and gather some strength before the guards came for her the next time.  
  
  
  
It was almost evening before they did so. Rachel had no idea of the time, having no watch and no windows, but the guards were muttering about missing dinner, so she could make a decent guess. They tried to chain her by her wrists again, but they were too swollen. Swearing loudly among themselves, and giving her a few proper kicks to demonstrate their opinion on the matter more clearly, they brought out a collar and a leash - made for Andalites - instead.  
  
Rachel's arms were tied together behind her back, each hand secured to the other elbow. They took away the tail-blade sheath, but kept the short chain that was attached to the collar.  
  
The other soldier fastened the collar around her neck and grinned at her. "You know," he said. "They say you were the bear. And I think bears should always be wearing collars - because they never know where to go unless you lead them."  
  
Rachel opened her mouth to snap back but was rewarded for it by a fist in her stomach.  
  
"You remember what the officer said, don't you?" the soldier growled, tugging at the leash so that she stumbled forwards, down on her knees, the stone floor scraping them raw. "You don't talk to us."  
  
"And you shouldn't talk to me either," she spat, struggling to get up.  
  
A kick, straight at her belly. Rachel folded double, and a sharp yank at the leash made her crash down to the floor. Her arms were still tied behind her back, and she landed hard on her shoulder and the side of her head.  
  
"Now get up," snapped the soldier that had kicked her. "He'll be mad at you if you arrive there and you're already dizzy from being beaten."  
  
Rachel turned over on her back, looked up, and all of a sudden wished she had something to eat. Something to drink.  
  
"Get up!" One of the two kicked at her shoulder.  
  
She closed her eyes. Yes. She was weak with hunger. And even more than that, thirst. She was thirsty and hungry. That must be the reason she was so dizzy. Her mother always told her that she had to eat enough.   
  
"UP!"  
  
Pain in her head. Her head was already aching, throbbing, but now there was more of it. Didn't matter. She could deal with pain. She had dealt with pain before. All she had to do was to demorph…  
  
She was thrown to the side when another boot slammed into her head.  
  
Hunger. When had she eaten the last time? Weird. She couldn't remember. It was there, but she… couldn't focus.  
  
"GET UP!"  
  
Through her rapidly blurring sight, she saw the dim shape of a boot coming at her face. Then, all of a sudden, things went dark.  
  
  
  
  
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Author's Note;  
  
There's the much-asked for background info. And that's basically where I was when I stopped writing this thing, so if any more of it is going up, I'll have to WRITE it. How annoying.  
  
Review. (*grins* I know, I know, I'm obsessed with it. So what?)  
  



	4. Planning and Allies

Please forgive me  
  
  
  
  
  
She woke to the angry muttering of the officer. At first that was all she was aware of; his voice. And her mind readied for the pain that was sure to follow it. Even then, when she was only partly awake, did her muscles tense in preparation.  
  
But then she realised that the cuffs were gone from her wrists. The collar was gone from her neck. She was lying on her back, she was warm, a soft blanket lying over her, and a pillow under her head. When she forced her eyes open the cleanliness of the room surprised her.  
  
It was some sort of hospital, obviously.  
  
She was aware enough to avoid opening her eyes fully, and glanced around the room with eyes that still looked closed.  
  
There was an anti-morphing ray in the corner of this room as well, to her disappointment. She focused her ears and the muttering of the officer - and another, female voice, unknown to her - turned to words.  
  
"Well congratulations, Gus, you've done it again," the woman spat sharply. Rachel was dimly aware that a shape leaned over her, watching her closely. "Could you just be a little gentler?"  
  
The officer made a very rude noise. "Mind your own business, Carla."  
  
"Your prisoners are my business, considering how often you have to bring them here."  
  
"Then shut up and do your job. Be a nurse. Don't hold any moral lectures."  
  
Rachel heard the heavy sigh. "Why should you care, you seem to be immune to them."  
  
There was the sound of a fist slamming down on a table. "I said SHUT UP!"  
  
The nurse stared up at him, defiant, and when she spoke her voice was low and controlled. "Don't you dare threaten me, Gus. If you do, the bosses will have your head. They don't allow that kind of behaviour. Especially not twice."  
  
"The bosses won't have my head. I'm useful. I do my job. I get them information. I break down those stiff-necked rebel warriors until for the bosses until they're grovelling and begging. A nurse, though, can be replaced."  
  
Rachel listened with a degree of relief as he left the room, his loud, heavy footsteps making her ears and head hurt.  
  
The nurse huffed. "Glad to be rid of him," she said to Rachel, in a tone that didn't expect a reply.  
  
"I'm conscious," Rachel informed her, surprised to hear the strength of her own voice, as she opened her eyes and looked up at a surprised face, surrounded by a cascade of red, curly hair.  
  
When the surprise died down the nurse smiled. "You're stronger than you look. My name is Clara. I'm a nurse. You see, you're…"  
  
"I heard you talking. I've figured it out. I've been aware for some time."  
  
Clara nodded gravely. "But do me and yourself a favour; make sure you seem unconscious when that lowlife comes, or he'll drag you back to your cell before anyone can stop him."  
  
Rachel nodded. Pain shot through her head, making her close her eyes. "I can imagine."  
  
"No, you can't. Gus is mad; ask anyone around here. Everyone's afraid of him."  
  
"I'm not afraid of him," Rachel declared.  
  
"You will be. But I'm not; not any more."  
  
Rachel's eyes opened, staring up at the nurse's face. "Why not?"  
  
Pride shone in Clara's steel-blue eyes. "He can't do worse than he already has." She sighed, placed a hand over Rachel's face and gently closed her eyes. "Rest now. While you have the chance. You've only been here a few minutes, but if Gus has his way, you'll be out of here in just as few."  
  
  
  
Clara's guess was not completely accurate, but close enough. Rachel spent a restful night in a soft bed, making the most of being relieved from the pain in her wounds by the drugs she had been given. The morning after, though, the officer returned with two soldiers and Clara's fierce protests were coldly ignored. The soldiers grabbed Rachel by the arms and dragged her out of the room.  
  
She was still too weak to walk, too weak to resist strongly enough for it to matter, but she was strong enough to hear Clara following, keeping pace with the officer, still protesting loudly - and to hear her cry out as a fist struck her to the floor.  
  
  
  
"You don't want to get caught at this," the soldier muttered, glancing up from the screens where he had kept his gaze fixed.  
  
"No, I don't; but not for my own sake." Tobias looked down at the second screen, that showed Rachel's little cell. It had been empty over the night; now a shape was huddled in a corner, shivering, for all eyes clearly wanting to break out crying but refusing to do so. If he didn't know who it was he wouldn't have recognized her.  
  
The thought of the officer, who was responsible, made fear clasp around his mind again. He glanced back at the door; he wasn't allowed to be there. He had been strictly forbidden to go anywhere near Rachel's cell. He was not openly defying the officer, but watching the security screens would be good enough to earn him a good punishment - more because the officer liked punishing than because he had earned it.  
  
But he was not afraid for himself. What he was afraid of was what the officer had told him when Rachel had arrived.   
  
Before Rachel came he himself had been the officer's favourite victim. Fear of the cruel officer was by then rooted to the core of his being; he had been there far too long to have any hope of having it cured. Hopes of escaping had died years earlier. He had been more or less free to roam as he wished, within the building, because the officer was safe in his belief that Tobias no longer had the guts to defy him.  
  
Which had been all too true.  
  
But the day Rachel arrived the officer had appeared in the doorway to Tobias's unlocked cell, looking down at him with his sly, malevolent eyes. Tobias remembered the green chewing gum in his mouth - the same gum that now stuck to Rachel's hair. He remembered pulling back, waiting for the rain of blows that to his surprise never came. "We caught an old friend of yours. Your behaviour isn't bad, birdbrain, but it could be better. It WILL be better." He had smiled that vicious grin that Tobias knew all too well. "One wrong move from you, and she gets beaten for it."  
  
Rachel would be punished for his mistakes; that was enough to keep Tobias tightly in the officer's grasp, without having to waste any energy on guarding him any better. The officer was cruel; but he was far from stupid. He knew very well how to keep a body and mind barely alive - and totally in his control.  
  
But at that moment Tobias's miserable existence had changed. Purpose came back; with purpose came hope. Still only a faint glimmer of hope, in the lurking depths of a mind shadowed by fear, but it was enough to spark the last of his defiance. And for the first time in he didn't even try to figure out how long, he was brave enough to…  
  
"He's returning," the soldier warned.  
  
Tobias looked down at the screen, to see the door to Rachel's cell slammed open and the officer barging in. He grabbed hold of the tattered, bloody tangle that once had been her beautiful blond hair, yanked her up, and with a single motion threw her out of the room.  
  
Tobias's jaws tightened with resolve to, somehow, get her out of there. At the same time he wanted to shrink together from the mere thought of what the officer would do if he found out.  
  
  
  
  
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Author's Note;  
  
There, finished with that one. Maybe you're able to figure out where the title comes from... or not. It isn't clear yet, but it will be.  
  
Review this one and I'll try to put the next one together. It's patches of text here and there, for the moment, because when I stopped writing this and hid it away it was beginning, part of middle, part of end, and a lot of gaps. Now I have to try to fill them in. Which is harder than it sounds.  
  



	5. Bleeding and Porcelain

Please forgive me  
  
  
  
  
  
Rachel was dragged swiftly back to the officer's favourite room, all the way half-stumbling behind him, being pulled along by her hair, that the officer held in an iron grip. If she hadn't been so weary, she would have thought it terribly insulting - and have fought to broke free.  
  
He didn't even slow down when she stumbled, didn't yank her back to her feet, just kept walking, and she had to get up herself as best as she could or be dragged limply behind him.  
  
By the time they reached the room she was already dizzy from the effort of keeping on her feet - and the lack of food and water. The officer threw her into a chair, and promptly handed her a cup of hot tea.  
  
She stared at the cup, disbelieving, and then looked suspiciously up at the officer.  
  
"Drink it," he ordered. "You're too thirsty to afford suspiciousness. Too dehydrated, too. Don't want you dying at me."  
  
That settled it. She used the last of her failing energy and hurled the cup at his face. It hit his goal, and the steaming tea made him pull back, startled, gasping from the heat, but as soon as the first shock had settled he calmed himself. He straightened up, slowly wiped the still-hot tea from his face, shook it away from his hands, and - keeping his malevolent eyes fixed at Rachel - called for his guards.  
  
Rachel sat glaring at him with defiance flaming in her eyes. But the next thing she knew, she was bound to the chair, her head pulled back so far that her spine felt it would snap, and fingers tightly pressed around her nose, eventually forcing her to open her mouth to breath.  
  
Fingers grabbed her jaw and held it open, at the same time letting go of her nose.  
  
The officer stood nearby, calmly stirring another cup of steaming tea.  
  
"My sweet," he said. "There is one thing you need to learn: in this place, I get my way. If I want you to drink some tea, that's what you're going to do." He turned towards her. "Even if I have to pour it down your throat myself."  
  
He filled a cup and without another word poured the steaming liquid down at her mouth. His aim wasn't the best, though, and half of the tea ran out over her face, while the other half wet into her mouth, down her throat - and straight into her lungs.  
  
She reeled back, trying to break free from the chair, barely keeping the panic under control as the near-boiling tea filled her lungs and made it impossible to breath. The officer and the guards watched indifferently as she coughed and spluttered, desperate to get the liquid out again. The officer was sitting on the edge of his desk, stirring another cup of tea thoughtfully, ignoring her rasping attempts to breath.  
  
When she had - after what seemed like forever - managed to calm down, and regain control over her breathing, he smiled down at her. "More tea, my sweet?"  
  
Rachel hadn't caught her breath enough to talk yet.  
  
"No? Are you sure?"  
  
The process was repeated twice, until he gave her a chance to speak again.  
  
"Any more?" he asked. "Or will that be all?"  
  
Rachel was too proud to beg him to stop, although her throat and lungs were screaming. "I'm not really thirsty," she gasped instead, still trying to get the last of the half-boiling tea out of her lungs.  
  
The officer smiled. "That's good to know. Guards? You heard that, didn't you? She won't be requiring any water this evening. She's not really thirsty."  
  
Rachel didn't care. She glanced at the officer, who sipped his tea as he looked back at her with an amused expression.  
  
"You know," he said. "I made a bet with a few friends. I said I could break you down in less than a week. It hasn't been a week, but you're already beginning to crumple."  
  
That was too much. She glared up at him, clenching her hands. "I'm not beaten yet!"  
  
"Are you thirsty?" he asked, in an almost friendly tone.  
  
"That depends. Are you going to pour it down my throat or can I drink it myself?"  
  
"That depends, too. Are you going to answer my question or make stupid comments?"  
  
She tried to evaluate the question, tried to figure out what to say, but one glance at the teapot convinced her otherwise. She was too thirsty - too dehydrated - to afford being suspicious. As the officer had said. "I'm thirsty."  
  
"Good for you. Free her hands, give her something to drink."  
  
The guards did as they were told, handing Rachel a reasonably large porcelain cup of water. Afraid that they would snatch it away, she drank it two giant gulps, and sank down in her chair. She held out the cup for more, but her luck was at its end.  
  
"Not this time," the officer said. "If you want more water, you'll have to earn it, my sweet."  
  
She hurled the cup at his face, but his hand flew up and he caught it easily. He slowly rose to his feet.  
  
"I'm not your sweet," she spat, but part of her wanted to pull back when the officer took a step closer, the cup thrown down, shattering when it hit the floor.  
  
"I chose what to call you," he replied.  
  
Rachel, free from her restraints and realising that there was nothing holding her to the chair, stood up. She was tall, as she was well aware of, and standing up to meet his gaze improved her confidence. "Not if you know your own good."  
  
Rachel might have been tall, and perhaps if she had been in better condition she would have been quick enough to duck and avoided being hit, but she had probably never been in a worse condition in her life. As it was, the officer's hand struck her so hard that she stumbled back into the chair. He didn't slow down to grab the chair, with her still in it, and throw it to the side, making her tumble out of it and into the wall.  
  
She pulled together and tried to morph by instinct. Unfortunately, the anti-morph ray in the room stopped her easily, and she felt fingers close around her still-human arm and haul her up.  
  
The officer shook her roughly and then threw her down to the floor again.  
  
"WHAT DID YOU SAY?!!!" he roared.  
  
Rachel pulled together and crawled in under his desk, all the while searching for something - anything - that could be a weapon. The officer grabbed her foot and yanked her out.  
  
Her palm was cut on something, and without a second thought she closed her hand around it.  
  
It was probably a piece of porcelain from the shattered cup.  
  
But it had a sharp edge. And that was all Rachel needed to know.  
  
When the officer lifted her up to eyelevel she struck with her pathetic little weapon. It caused a deep slash right across his face, and he screamed out in surprise and pain and fury as she slashed again, this time aiming for his throat.  
  
But he caught her wrist in a steel grip and forced the piece of porcelain out of her hand. Then he threw her down to the floor and kicked straight at her head with all the force in his leg.  
  
  
  
When she woke up, she was back in her cell, again hanging by her swelling wrists in the chains from the ceiling. The guards were in the room, sitting in chairs, watching her attentively.  
  
"That wasn't a very smart thing to do," one of them said. "Cutting his face open like that."  
  
"I never claimed to be smart," Rachel replied.  
  
He stretched out with the stick he was holding to jab her in the ribs. "People who are smart survive longer in this place."  
  
"Then they're not smart, they're stupid. Who wants to be alive here?"  
  
He laughed at her, and she found her face split by a smile - that made the bruises on her face start throbbing with pain. She was mostly surprised when the stick slammed into her side, all air beaten out of her lungs.  
  
"You don't talk to us," the guard spat. But then shrugged. "I suppose, though, it doesn't matter. In another few days you'll be a hapless heap of skin and bones, following the officer around like a puppy - like the rest of them."  
  
That caught Rachel's attention. "There are others?"  
  
The stick struck her side. "You've been told not to talk to us!"  
  
Rachel silenced, trying to ignore the pain in her wrists and head - and all over her body - and refusing to wonder how long she would have to hang there before she was taken down again. Considering what she had done, her hopes were not that high.  
  
But as she remembered the look on the officer's face when she had cut him with that piece of porcelain she was filled with a grim satisfaction - and smiled, despite everything.  
  
So the officer could bleed, despite all, the insensitive bastard. And since he could bleed, she'd make sure he did.  
  
  
  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
Author's Note;  
  
More the next time. Although you could have figured that out yourself. 


	6. Fussing and a Secret

Please forgive me   
  
  
  
  
  
The next time she saw the officer was the morning after. He came to her cell and stopped in doorway, watching her with fury burning in his eyes. Rachel was pleased to note that he had a very prominent bandage over the wound she had caused, that went from his left eyebrow and down to the right corner of his mouth, slicing off a chunk of skin from his nose on the way. That the pathetic little piece of porcelain had done that was unexpected, but not unwelcome. The officer stood glaring at her for a very long time, making her skin crawl, before ordering her to be let down again - to her surprise - and giving her water and the first good meal since she was captured.   
  
Captured. Freedom. Seemed like it had been a hundred years ago.   
  
The officer sent the guards away and watched her eat, with so much interest that for a moment she thought that the food might be poisoned and the best thing would be to throw it at his face. She played with the idea for a few moments, before remembering how hungry she was and returning her concentration to just eating.   
  
When she was done she sat back down, leaning against the wall behind her, returning the officer's glare. "What are you staring at?"   
  
He brought a hand up to his bandage. For the first time the tight control he always held over his face fell away and Rachel could see the madness that burned in his eyes. "I was right when I said I don't want you dying on me," he said lowly. "Breaking your spirit is going to be very… interesting."   
  
He looked her over with a gaze that made her insides churn. She turned away, faking a yawn to hide her sudden unease. "If you say so. You can leave now. I'm tired."   
  
His eyes flashed with anger, and she expected him to order his guards to put her back in those chains, or maybe drag her away to some room and beat her as he usually did. But he spun on his heels and left the cell, slamming the door behind him.   
  
She was so surprised that she had to look up and check that he was actually gone.   
  
  
  
Rachel did her best to make her behaviour over the coming days grow worse and worse. She let the officer's cruelty fuel her anger, and anger had always been a good source to spark defiance. At least for Rachel.   
  
But the result was that, only two days later, she ended up in Clara's clinic again. Although those two days had seemed like an eternity.   
  
Rachel was more than happy to relax and let Clara fuss over her wounds and bruises. Clara's fussing wasn't annoying, like some fussing, but more a to-the-point statement that something needs to be done about this, and about that, and then efficiently taking care of it.   
  
She was shown a mirror and barely recognized her face beneath the blisters and bruises that adorned it. She already knew how the rest of her looked, having seen more of that than she wished to, but her face… she had quickly turned her gaze away again.   
  
Her head was swollen and one of her ears had lost its former shape, probably from one of those kicks at her head. Her forehead was blackened, and across it was a cut, roughly taped together with medic tape. There was no trace of her normal, perfect skin, and she had no illusions about seeing any of it until she had been allowed to morph away all the damage. Which would never happen, she knew very well.   
  
Her head was adorned with a tassel of dirt, blood and formerly blond hair. When Clara had handled her wounds after best ability, she took out a bowl of water, shampoo and a brush and - to Rachel's surprise - began to wash it.   
  
"You really should cut if off," she muttered to herself. "In this place, it will only be in your way."   
  
"I don't want to cut it off," Rachel replied, a statement that had already been discussed. "I'm keeping it."   
  
"If you cut it off, Gus won't be able to drag you by your it."   
  
"So he'll use my ear instead."   
  
Clara laughed. "Probably," she agreed. "It wouldn't surprise me." But then her hands stopped working at Rachel's hair and Rachel could sense her hesitation.   
  
"What?"   
  
She felt Clara pull a bit at the uncooperative tangles, and saw as she held out a hand in front of Rachel's face.   
  
In her hand was a small piece of porcelain, shaped like a dagger but about the size of a large coin. From the stray hairs on its edges, it had been found in the tangles of Rachel's hair. It had obviously got stuck and followed her since then - probably when the officer threw her down to the floor.   
  
"Put it back," Rachel ordered, making a quick decision, thinking as before that anything with a sharp edge was of use. Any weapon she could find that would help her hurt the officer. Anything.   
  
"Are you sure?" Clara wondered, uncertain.   
  
Rachel turned around to face the nurse, eyes steaming. "Look, are you on my side, or on his? Put it back. Now."   
  
Clara bit her lip. "Rachel, I really shouldn't. I could get into really big trouble if…"   
  
"How are they going to know?"   
  
Without another word, Rachel snatched the piece out of the nurse's hand, caught a wisp of her own hair, and tied the porcelain in place as securely as she could, hidden deep in the tassels.   
  
"There," she said. "Deny all knowledge if they ask. And you didn't give it to me; I stole it. Fair enough?"   
  
Clara didn't reply, but the work on Rachel's hair stopped for obvious reasons. It was left in much the same condition it had been in before.   
  
  
  
Tobias waited patiently outside the room until the nurse came out. Then he stood up and the question was clear without him having to say anything. Which was fortunate. He was not allowed to talk to the nurse.   
  
"She's alive," Clara said, in a low voice, hiding her face, to all eyes ignoring him. "She'll survive longer than most of the others. But don't get your hopes up," she warned. "we both know what Gus can do when he gets angry enough."   
  
She fidgeted with a paper. She was nervous - for what? Was she hiding something?   
  
"Tobias, you shouldn't be here. If he catches you in this part of the building…" she let the sentence hang in the air, unfinished, and sent him a pleading glance. "Anything you do wrong, he'll take it out on her. Remember? You better go. Who knows when he comes to visit?"   
  
Tobias nodded. He glanced at the door to Rachel's room and wished he had the nerve to go in there and talk to her. Just to see her face. It would be so easy… he could tell her he was alive. He could tell her he was planning an escape for her.   
  
He could get caught.   
  
The thought was enough to turn him away from the door and send him down the corridor at a half-jog.   
  
  
  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _   
  
Author's Note;   
  
In the next one Rachel will find out that Tobias is around. But you'll have to wait like a good little reader. *innocent smile* And until then, you've got a review to write.


	7. Defying and Photos

Please forgive me  
  
  
  
  
  
Rachel spent that day, a night, and another day in the nurse's care before the officer managed to get his way and pull her back to her cell. By then she had been well cared for, both fed and given enough water. She had recovered a lot of lost energy and had practically felt her strength beginning to seep back to her.  
  
She was ready to do some more defying. And she was already mentally preparing herself for the consequences she knew would come.  
  
The officer dragged her directly to a room he called the "picture room". The cause for the name was obvious. On the walls, from roof to floor, were photos, neatly hanging side by side, and only the fourth and the lower part of the third wall were free, leaving room for more photos. All of them were taken with a simple Polaroid camera, and attached to the wall with a piece of tape.  
  
The room contained a chair and a simple table. A camera was on the table - a Polaroid camera - and the two usual guards stood by the floor. Rachel glanced up into the corners of the room, and to her dismay found that there was an anti-morphing ray there as well.  
  
She forgot that when the more important issue of the officer took her complete attention again. She was shoved down on the chair and he growled at her to stay there.  
  
"See these pictures?" he said, in the same menacing voice. "These are my prisoners. I collect them, you see. But they tend to die, so I take a picture of each to remember. And when they die, I note down what date it was."  
  
He ripped a picture off the wall and threw it at her. She caught it, even though it danced uncontrollably in the air. Then she turned to look at it.  
  
It was Sara. Her eyes, that held an empty look, were sunk into the back of her head, and all signs life gone from pale, bruised her face. There was a date of death in neat handwriting in the corner.  
  
Rachel threw the picture away in disgust, stopping an impulse to leap at the officer's throat. She was shaking with hatred. But the officer would pay. All in due course. There'd be a time for revenge later. .. yes. She'd take out her revenge later.  
  
The officer watched her reaction carefully. "She didn't survive very long," he said casually.  
  
"Where is she now?" Rachel asked in a tight voice.  
  
"I fed her body to the Taxxons, if that's what you mean. They live in the sewers under the building, to discourage escapes that way. And there's one in my office, chained in one of the inner rooms."  
  
Rachel swallowed, and stopped her hands from shaking. "Why do you do this?" she asked. "why… why do you treat people this way?"  
  
He shrugged. "Mostly, because I get paid for it. And partly because… I enjoy it. It's a thrill, my sweet, to see a strong soul finally snap, and know your own work and fists caused it."  
  
"And why? What do you want from your prisoners? What do you want from me? You ask no questions. You don't ask me where my friends are hiding - even if you know I could tell you. You beat me for not doing as I'm told - and just for the sake of it. Not for any real reason. Why?"  
  
"You're asking too many questions," he warned.  
  
"The best way to get rid of a question is to answer it."  
  
"I beat you up to break your spirit. Once that's done - if you survive that long - we'll see to what use you are. In the worst case you'll be good for nothing more than Taxxon food." He shrugged, and lifted the camera from the table. "Now smile."  
  
Rachel put on her best look of defiance and heard the snap from the camera as the photo was taken. The officer picked up the picture of Sara and hung it back on the wall. Then he took the new one - on which a picture of Rachel was slowly developing - and hung it at the end of the lowest, half-filled row on the third wall.  
  
Rachel cast yet another glance at the picture of her sister. Her dead sister. She glared up at the officer, fists beginning to clench. "If I could morph, I'd kill you."  
  
He turned back towards her. "I'm sure you would." He touched the bandage on his face. "You already tried. But you, as a load of others before you, failed."  
  
Rachel stood up. "The next time I'll succeed."  
  
His eyes grew hard. "I told you to stay in that chair."  
  
"So?"  
  
"So sit back down."  
  
But Rachel was in no mood to be a good girl. She held up her visibly clenched fists in front of her and bore her gaze into the officer's cold eyes. "Make me."  
  
The explosion was instantaneous. The officer's eyes flashed in anger, he stepped forwards and grabbed the front of her tattered shirt. Without any visible effort he lifted her right off the ground, held her there, and slapped her across her entire face with his other hand.  
  
Rachel twisted in his grip, strengthened by fury, and kicked off at his chest with both feet. Her shirt was ripped out of his grip and she fell to the floor, landing on hands and knees and already feeling a hand yank at her hair. She cried out but sent up her hands. She found a thumb, pulled it outwards from the hand until the officer was forced to let go. As soon as she was free she was back on her feet, had grabbed a book lying on the desk and threw it at him.  
  
Her aim was bad, but it caught the side of his head and he staggered back, giving her enough time to analyse the situation. The guards were waiting patiently by the door, set on doing nothing until told otherwise. Rachel knew the officer well enough to know that he had taken this personally, and would hopefully keep them out of it. The officer was feeling his head where the book had slammed into it, but was more infuriated than injured.  
  
She suddenly remembered the anti-morphing ray; it was up in a corner, the other end of the room. It was not far to the roof. If she could reach it… it was behind the officer. She could leap up on the desk, and from there… she was a gymnast still, warrior or not. It was an easy leap, and if she got lucky… she would be able to grab hold of it. She would slam right into the wall, but it'd be worth it. If she could destroy that despicable little device…  
  
She could morph. And if she morphed, she could rid the world of the officer. Of the entire building, if she chose to.  
  
She leapt up on the desk and threw herself out into the air, towards the gadget. She could already feel it in her hands, could already see how she crushed it against the wall -  
  
A hand reached up and grabbed her as she passed. It couldn't keep its grip, she had too much momentum to be stopped so easily, but the damage was done - her leap was destroyed. She crashed into the wall and fell down to the floor. She pulled together, every centimetre of her bruised, trying to collect her thoughts.  
  
When she opened her eyes the images were blurred, dancing, not making any sense. But it was the pictures. She was looking at the pictures.  
  
When her eyes started working properly again she didn't believe them.  
  
A familiar face. A familiar face with sad eyes was staring back at her from the photo.  
  
Tobias.  
  
Tobias!  
  
She started to cry from relief of just seeing his face again, from fear of what had happened to him, from… she didn't know. All of a sudden tears were rolling out of her eyes, down her cheeks, and she didn't know why. She stretched out her hands to grab the picture, to look at it closer, but right then the officer grabbed her by her hair and jerked her violently up from the floor.  
  
She kept her eyes on the photo, not hearing the officer's mad roaring, not feeling as he pushed her down into the chair.  
  
She still couldn't believe her eyes.  
  
The photo. Tobias. Tobias.  
  
But she hadn't seen if there was a date of death!  
  
  
  
  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
Author's Note;  
  
What? Oh, yes, the note. Hm. For once I don't know what to write. Althought that's actually happening more and more these days... 


	8. Lying and a Confession

Please forgive me  
  
  
  
  
  
The heavy door to Rachel's cell was slammed open early the next morning, and the two guards barely waited for her to look up before they were yanking at her hair, kicking at her, pushing her towards the door so she tumbled to the floor, urging her to get up and follow them in every possible way - except for asking nicely. She had spent the night awake, being unable to sleep, the image of that picture haunting her, appearing whenever her eyes closed, making them flash open again.  
  
Tobias was in the prison. Had been, at least. She didn't know. The only way to find out, would be to ask the officer. But the thought itself almost made her burst into giggles.  
  
No, no, that wouldn't do any good. Probably more harm than good, actually; if Tobias was still alive the officer would be able to use the fact that she cared against them. Both of them. The idea was dismissed.  
  
Rachel had thoughts about asking Clara, but knowing the nurse she realised that Clara probably wouldn't answer. She was loyal her work, being a nurse, but that was probably as far as her concern for the prisoners went. She'd do what the prison told her to, and not much more. That piece of porcelain was still hidden in her hair, and that was probably the last drop of luck she had had in getting the nurse on her side.  
  
Rachel was dragged to the room she had been sent to the first day she came to the prison. The white-walled, window-less room, where one wall was a mirror - with surely a room behind it. But Rachel was beyond worrying about that. The officer was sitting behind the same desk as the last time, watching her with the same curious expression, drumming his fingers against each-other, and she was shoved down into the same chair and her arms tied to it, by both wrists and elbows. Rachel glanced around, and to her relief saw no pots of tea. At least something good.  
  
The guards took their customary places by the door and the officer leaned comfortably back in his chair. Rachel stayed still, waiting, almost curious as to what he wanted this time.  
  
He finally sighed and spoke. "Do you have a confession to make, my sweet?"  
  
"I'm not your sweet," came the automatic reply.  
  
His expression flashed in anger, he made a quick jerk of his hand and Rachel felt the chair being pushed to the side until it fell over. She fell with it, landing heavily with one hand between the armrest and the floor. The shock of pain made her cry out. Her weight and the chair's pressed down on her thumb, and three knuckles of her hand.  
  
No-one made any attempt to help her, and no matter how she twisted she could not free her throbbing hand. She only managed to harm it more.  
  
She had to keep a tight leash on herself to avoid beginning to cry.  
  
"Well?" the officer said calmly, untouched by her struggle. "What do you have to say?"  
  
"About what?" she managed.  
  
He rose from his seat and walked over to where her chair had fallen. He stopped there, leaned down over her, regarding her trapped hand with a interested, almost amused expression. "I suppose that hurts," he said conversationally.  
  
Rachel didn't answer him, biting her lip so hard it almost started bleeding.  
  
"I suppose it hurts more if I do this."  
  
He planted a heavy boot on the other armrest and pressed down. More weight on the chair. On the armrest. On Rachel's hand. She cried out again.  
  
He lifted the foot away, eyes alight with anger. "Don't think I'm blind, my sweet," he spat. "I don't miss much. I saw which picture you landed by yesterday. I saw the expression on your face."  
  
Rachel stared up at him.  
  
"Yes, I know about you and Tobias," he confirmed, nodding importantly, bending down and grabbing the front of her shirt. By that grip he lifted her and chair up and placed it back where it had originally been standing. Rachel cast a glance down at her hand, but immediately wished she hadn't. It throbbed with pain, and she couldn't move her three fingers.  
  
"I also know where that bird-brain is!" the officer roared, all of a sudden furious. "I know where that pathetic, cowardly little weasel is right now!" he leaned in closer, glaring into her eyes, hands gripping hers painfully where they were tied to the armrests. "And I know he isn't doing a thing to help you, my sweet. I know he won't move a centimetre without my permission. If I tried to cut your pretty little throat, I know he'd rather help me than try to stop me."  
  
Rachel stared at him, expression blank, mind tumbling.  
  
He was telling the truth. He was telling the truth; you could hear on his voice. The total conviction of his tone, the cold sincerity in his maddened eyes. He was telling him what he himself believed without a doubt.  
  
But it couldn't be true. Couldn't.  
  
He nodded to himself, letting go off the chair and turning around to return to his seat behind the desk. He gave her a moment or two to process the information, to evaluate it. Then he nodded again, certain that he had convinced her, and said; "I cannot let you meet him, of course. It would be a major breech of security, you see, to let two prisoners meet, for even a moment. Especially the two of you."  
  
"He's alive?" Rachel whispered.  
  
He laughed. "You could call it that. His heart still beats. He still breathes. But that's about it; no free will left. None." He laughed again. Rachel, deep in despairing thoughts, missed the sneaky, warning glance at the mirrored wall.  
  
Rachel shook her head slowly. "You're lying."  
  
"I don't lie."  
  
"Liar!" she bellowed, suddenly leaping forwards, chair still tied to her, and with about as much agility as a truck.  
  
He leapt out of his chair, but she didn't even come that far. She was stopped halfway across the desk, just stopped, drained out, and began sobbing helplessly. At a gesture from the officer, the two guards lifted her and the chair back to their place on the floor.  
  
The officer took a grip on her hair and lifted her upwards by it until she cried out. "Now then," he said, giving an extra yank before putting her down. "am I a liar?"  
  
She quenched a sob and her head jerked in a motion that might have been a nod.  
  
He promptly slapped her. Her head was thrown to the side, she tasted blood from her cracked lips, and her face went numb. The chair wobbled dangerously, but kept upright.  
  
"Well?" the officer demanded. "What am I?"  
  
"A liar," she sobbed. "Tobias would never -"  
  
He slammed the chair to the side and it fell, again landing on her mistreated and bloody hand. She screamed in pain, but he made no attempts to lift her back up, and instead aimed a kick at her chest.  
  
"WHAT DID YOU SAY?!!"  
  
"Liar!" she screamed helplessly. "A wretched -"  
  
Another kick at her chest. The chair rocked back and then slammed down on her hand again. She threw her head back, almost unaware of the anguished sound that came out her throat.  
  
"What was that?"  
  
"Li -"  
  
Another kick. All air out of her lungs. The chair rocked back and landed with the backrest down. Her head slammed down to the floor, and the officer's boot kicked at the chair's side until it tipped over again, ending up with her standing on her knees and chin, the chair above her, its back cutting into her neck and her arms unable to help her, tied to the armrests that stood firmly on the floor and balanced the chair, making sure she didn't just push it up again.  
  
"Tobias… wouldn't…"  
  
The officer took a hand and pressed the chair down, against her neck, making it unbearable to speak. She tried to draw a breath but that, too, was almost impossible.  
  
She heard him take a couple of deep breaths in an effort to calm himself. "Well then, my sweet," he said finally, through gritted teeth. "we seem to have a very interesting situation here. You see, if I press this chair downwards hard enough, your neck will snap. On the other hand, I don't want you dead, and I'm pretty sure you wouldn't really mind being killed. Too much of a warrior in you. So what do we do?"  
  
Rachel concentrated on breathing, still unable to speak.  
  
"I suggest this. I forgive you this… little spectacle… you just caused. And you take back calling me a liar. Maybe I'll even tell you how the bird-brain's doing. Otherwise, I've got nothing against leaving you there, under that chair." He smiled cruelly. "It is an awfully heavy chair, isn't it?" straightening again, he continued; "I'll have one of the guards make sure you don't get up, you'll never hear another word about your beloved Tobias -" the name was a sneer "- and I'll see you in the morning. Personally, I'll have a good night's sleep and a meal, I think. I'm getting hungry. So what do you think? Will you take that horrible word back?"  
  
He lifted the chair's backrest up enough to allow her to reply. She said "yes," in a strangled voice, seeing no reason to refuse.  
  
The chair was again lifted, this time almost gently, and again put back on its place.  
  
"There," he said, smiling. "Good girl. That wasn't so bad, now was it?"  
  
Rachel, feeling that one battle was lost but not planning to let him notice she thought so, spat at his face. The familiar flash of anger appeared, and she jerked back from a blow - a blow that never came. Instead, there was a cold smile, and the officer pulled back her head by her hair.  
  
He pulled a finger along the edge of her forehead, ignoring the hardened wad of green chewing gum that still stuck to her hair, from the day she had first met him. His finger continued down the side of her face, circling once over her cheek, and finally tapped her lips. His other hand held her head back firmly, but now he shook it from side to side, tsk-ing to himself.  
  
"You're a very pretty girl, my sweet, and pretty girls don't do well in prisons with male officers. Remember that the next time you feel rebellious." He leaned closer to her ear and whispered; "Remember it well."  
  
With that, he took a harsh grip on her jaw, lowered his head and pressed his lips against hers, pressing her head back so far that the backrest cut painfully into her neck, again threatening to snap it. She struggled desperately to get away, but the only thing she managed to do was to make his grip on her face harden in anger. She had no choice but to wait until he let go.  
  
He did, eventually. He pulled back, staring down at her with the same maddened gaze he'd had the time he had given her that unexpected meal, the morning after she had cut him with that piece of porcelain.   
  
Immediately afterwards Rachel was freed from the chair and led - almost carried, because she was wobbling - out of the room by the two guards, feeling numb, and a great need to clean her face. With water, and lots of soap. But she knew they wouldn't provide that for her.  
  
  
  
"Tobias!" the officer bellowed, sitting down in his chair.  
  
Tobias came into the room from behind the mirrored glass wall. His face was white with anger, and his hands clenched - although he was trying not to show it. "Don't… you… touch her… ever again."  
  
The officer turned to look at him. There was no anger, no fear, no nothing. That was more frightening than if he had looked angry, and he knew that. "You, birdbrain, aren't here to tell me what to do. ARE YOU?!"  
  
Tobias bowed down his head to hide his face from the officer's furious gaze, and quickly hid his clenching hands behind his back. But his normally meek voice was almost a snarl. "No, master."  
  
The officer nodded, pleased, if only for the moment. "Then will you keep your mouth shut?"  
  
"Yes, master."  
  
"And do as you're told?"  
  
"Yes…" the officer raised an eyebrow and Tobias quickly added "master".  
  
"Remember that the days you shared with that one are long over. She's my prisoner now, and what I choose to do to her is my choice and no-one else's." he glared threateningly at Tobias, who didn't dare meet that gaze; out of fear that the officer would see the fury in his eyes. "You're not in any position to protect her, birdbrain. Are you?"  
  
"No, master."  
  
"Good," the officer said, leaning back in his chair and putting his feet up on the table. "Remember our little talk. The first trace of rebellion from you, and she's the one who gets to feel fists."  
  
Tobias swallowed a sharp word and said; "Yes, master."  
  
"Very good, birdbrain. You may leave."  
  
Tobias turned and started towards the door, almost growling the customary "Thank you for teaching me respect, master" as he opened it.  
  
"Oh, and birdbrain?" the officer said suddenly. Tobias turned around to see him smiling provocatively. He was having difficulty controlling his anger even before the officer spoke: "Your girlfriend has very soft lips. I'm sure you've noticed that."  
  
That was all Tobias could take. His head snapped up, his fists were raised, and he took a menacing step forwards, ready to leap at the officer, ready to rip the man's heart out with only his hands, ready to twist his neck until it snapped, if he had to, if he was given half a chance, and care nothing for the consequences.  
  
The officer stood up. That was all he needed to do. Stand up, and lean his head to the side, staring down at the former Animorph with an expression that said exactly what would happen if Tobias took another step.  
  
But Tobias stopped dead in his tracks, immediately unclenching his hands and lowering his face in submission, trying to quench the trembling, caused by his anger. The officer snarled a single word, and Tobias obeyed, turning and fleeing out of the room.  
  
But as soon as he was sure he wasn't being followed, he headed towards Clara's clinic.  
  
  
  
  
  
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Author's Note;  
  
And that's where this story ends. *insert loud evil laugh here*  
  
Well, honestly, there're a few more chapters. One or two, maybe three. Or four. Haven't counted them.  
  
The next one will be up soon. Or not. * runs around pulling hair and screaming "Aargh! Time! Time! Who's got the time?!". Then calms down. Almost.*  
  
(Extra note; oh, look at that, I didn't ask for reviews! *hm. better check for a fever.*) 


	9. Pleading and Keys

Please forgive me  
  
  
  
  
  
Rachel was in a horrid state.  
  
She had, over night, grown silent. Not a single word escaped her, not even in response to the officer's cruel remarks, or his questions. She cradled her tattered, wounded hand, and kept staring at him, with so much loathing that even he became uncomfortable under her silent, almost ghastly gaze.  
  
Within two days, he had grown tired of her stubborn silence. The only way he knew to get her out of it, or to get her to do anything, was beating her until she screamed. The result of that was that Rachel, once again, ended up in Clara's clinic, this time too weak to talk.  
  
Therefore the horrid state.  
  
The nurse took care of Rachel's wounds as best she could, lining up the broken bones in the patient's hand after best ability but realising that the hand would never heal properly, fed her and gave her enough water, and painkillers, to last through the next day. Clara could barely believe that the young warrior was still alive, after all she had to live through.  
  
Clara spoke to Gus, as she had to, about her patient, and advised him to let her rest for at least two days. Gus exploded, and lashed out at her, but Clara had picked the place and time well - in the cafeteria, at the same time the bosses were eating, only a few tables away. If Gus disturbed their peace they would not be pleased.  
  
He was not mad enough to try. He stood, vibrating with anger, the chair behind him had fallen when he'd flown to his feet, but he slowly lowered the hand he had raised to strike her.  
  
She lifted her glass and smiled at him, knowing her success. Gus pulled the chair back up and sank down on it, not taking his madly burning eyes from her.  
  
"I'll decide when myself," he spat. "One week, one day, or one hour. I decide. She's my prisoner."  
  
"And my patient. Keep out of my clinic, Gus. I told the bosses about your last escapade in there, and they were not happy about it. The entire point of the clinic is to be a place of peace and rest."  
  
He stood up again. "Then you better stay in your clinic, woman, because set one foot outside and you'll know what defying me means."  
  
He whirled around and began striding away.  
  
"Was that a threat, Gus?" she called after him. He didn't answer, but she knew the reply without hearing it. She shivered. Her appetite was gone and she left the cafeteria to return to her patients.  
  
  
  
When Clara returned to the clinic, Tobias was sitting outside Rachel's room. As Clara approached, he stood up, watching her with pleading eyes.  
  
Clara sighed. "You know I can't help you, Tobias," she said.  
  
"I'm not leaving until you do," he said again, the same words as before she had left, in exactly the same, flat tone of voice. "I'm staying here until you help me."  
  
"What if Gus comes by? You know what he'll do if he catches you here."  
  
There was a flash of fear over Tobias's face, but he stifled it surprisingly quickly and said; "He's no longer allowed here in the clinic."  
  
"Do you actually think that'll stop him?"  
  
He shivered, but then straightened and regarded her with a half-pleading, more-than-desperate, but still determined look. "I'm still not leaving."  
  
"I've noticed."  
  
"Just give me the key to her cell…" he pleaded.  
  
"I can't," Clara said. "Leave me alone. Or I'll tell Gus you were here." She went into her office and planned to slam the door behind her, but he caught it and wrenched it back open, stepping into the doorway to keep her from closing it, one hand on the door, one on the doorframe.  
  
There was something in his eyes that made her pull back.  
  
"Don't you want to save Rachel?" he asked in a dangerously low voice.  
  
"I…" Clara sighed. "I do work for the prison, Tobias." She put a hand in the left pocket of her long white coat and fidgeted with the keys inside it.  
  
Tobias heard the soft rattle of metal and his gaze averted from her face towards her pocket., his expression calculating.  
  
"Don't even think it," Clara warned, seeing and recognizing that look. "I'll set security on you, I swear I will. If I do you'll be locked up again, and powerless to help anyone. And if they catch you with keys, any keys at all…"  
  
The tension in Tobias's shoulders relaxed as he realised she meant to carry through her threat. Clara was possibly the only ally he and Rachel had in the prison; and she would only help that far. She would have nothing to do with any escapes.  
  
Nodding to herself, seeing that he had abandoned that crazy idea, Clara could turn her back to him without being too worried. She reached for a small, metal cupboard hanging on the wall, put a small, silver key in the lock and turned it slowly. Opening the cupboard, she neatly hung the other keys on their little hooks. She slammed the door shut in the same motion as she turned, gave Tobias an evaluating, warning look, and left the room.  
  
Tobias glanced after her, but remained where he was, hands twitching. The door to the little cupboard had - by accident or on purpose, he couldn't tell - failed to close properly.  
  
  
  
Rachel's hand was throbbing. Clara must have forgotten to fill up the painkillers…  
  
She opened her eyes, ready to meet the by then familiar scene of the sickroom, but instead saw the rough walls of her own cell - familiar, yes; welcome, no.  
  
She sighed heavily, closed her eyes, curled back up on her blanket and tried to ignore the throbbing in her hand. The bandage was gone - ripped off, the evening before. She remembered now. The officer had not been foolish enough to enter the clinic after being forbidden - he had sent a pack of his worst soldiers instead. They'd tore her out of that comfortable sickbed and dragged her back to the uninviting stone floor of her cell. And ripped away the bandage on her hand.  
  
Her hand which now was more of a claw. She yearned to morph it away… she hated the sight of it. Crooked, bloody, useless, and broken.  
  
Like the rest of me, she thought bitterly.  
  
The sound outside her cell stirred her back to the present. At first she thought it was the officer, coming to see her again - anger steamed up. She hated him worse than her hand.  
  
Then she heard the sound of running - two sets of running boots, disappearing down the corridor. The guards - leaving. Why? There was a short pause; she strained her ears, sitting up and staring at the door. Then a soft voice… "Rachel?"  
  
Rachel's heart skipped a beat. That voice… she scrambled up to the door faster than she would have thought possible. "Tobias? Tobias, is that you?"  
  
"I'm so glad you're awake," that same voice said, a voice she hadn't heard in years, a voice that was drenched with weariness and relief. "Listen, Rachel, are you okay? Doesn't matter, as long as you're alive… I love you, and I'm going to let you out, I've got the key…"  
  
Rachel wasted no time wondering how he had gotten the key, how he had escaped his own cell… "Then hurry up before they come back!"  
  
"I will."  
  
The key was in the lock, and turning… the lock clicked once. The door was torn open and Rachel, who had been half-leaning towards it fell out… right into Tobias's arms.  
  
She clung to his shoulder for a moment, then turned to look up at his face. They both dared a smile. Rachel swallowed, sighed, reached up to kiss him and then smiled again. "About time."  
  
"I'd have come quicker, but I just got the key…" he tightened an arm around her waist, holding her up… he was in much better shape, she was glad to notice, almost unharmed except for a few bruises. "I've missed you." He bent down to kiss her forehead.  
  
"I've missed you too," she replied, burying her head against his shoulder.  
  
Then a hand was grabbing her hair and yanked her away from Tobias's grip, and another voice said; "And I'd have missed you both if you managed to escape!"  
  
Rachel, startled, realised it was the officer. She struggled to break free, and Tobias charged with a cry of fury.  
  
The officer brushed him away with a sweep of his arm. He caught Rachel's broken hand in his own and squeezed, making her gasp from the sudden pain, easily being forced down to her knees as her arm was twisted in his grip.  
  
Tobias crawled up on all four and was about to get up when the officer aimed a kick that hit him straight in the face. He fell back, tumbled, and just as he stopped tumbling the officer kicked him again.  
  
"Never do that!" he roared. "You didn't actually think you'd get away, birdbrain? DID YOU?!"  
  
Rachel watched helplessly as two of the officer's soldiers appeared, grabbed Tobias by the arms and lifted him up. He tried to break free, but his motions were numb and mostly on automatic; and of course it was impossible.  
  
The officer regarded him coldly, still cruelly crushing Rachel's broken hand in one of his own. "Can you hear me, bird-brain?" he said.  
  
Tobias glanced up, nodded once, and his head fell back down as if in defeat. Rachel hated that look on his face. Hated it. Why didn't he fight? Why… He could at least try. He should try. She wrenched at her hand, following her own advice and attempting to break free, but as the officer yanked back she had to bite into her lip to avoid crying out.  
  
"Remember what I told you," the officer sneered, still speaking to Tobias, ignoring Rachel as if she wasn't even there. "You knew the consequences. And still…" he glared at Tobias, but then shrugged. "Suit yourself."  
  
With that, he set off purposefully down a corridor, dragging Rachel along. The guards followed with Tobias from a distance.  
  
Rachel twisted her head around to look at him, and what she saw made her blood boil in anger.  
  
Not even then did he fight.  
  
  
  
  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
Author's Note;  
  
*glares at reader* Well, you didn't REALLY expect me to let them get away that easily, did you?  
  
And I know Tobias not fighting is a bit OOC, but considering the situation it's not impossible. What's he supposed to do, anyway?  
  
Besides, I like the idea. Get Rachel mad at him. Perfect.  
  
Now then. Here's a question. I've planned and half-written an ending, but it is VERY depressing. Should I put that one up, or write a happier one? 


	10. Despairing and a Taxxon

Please forgive me  
  
  
  
  
  
The officer led them to his office. But he didn't stop there; he opened a door into a side room and harshly threw Rachel inside. He locked the door and turned menacingly towards Tobias. At a jerk of the officer's head, both soldiers let go of the former Animorph and silently took their usual places at the sides of the door leading out into the corridors.  
  
Tobias stood where they had left him, shaking, refusing to take his eyes of the floor. The officer watched him, the tension in the room growing, until finally it was thick enough to walk on. Then Tobias looked up and cast an uncertain glance at the door behind which Rachel was hid.  
  
He knew what else was in that room. A -  
  
"Don't you dare look that way!" the officer snarled, and Tobias's gaze was jerked away. "Do you know what you've done?"  
  
Tobias hesitated, but then nodded, but his spoken reply was no more than a weak mumble.  
  
"Do you know what I think about it?"  
  
Tobias nodded again, and mumbled the same phrase again.  
  
"Speak up!" the officer roared.  
  
"Yes master," Tobias said, almost jumping straight into the roof at that tone of voice.  
  
The officer checked the lock on the door behind him. "We can't allow that kind of behaviour here, can we?"  
  
"No master," Tobias whispered.  
  
"And those who break the rules are punished, aren't they?"  
  
"Yes, master."  
  
The officer nodded, pleased. "But first… you had a key. Where did you get the key?"  
  
Tobias stared at the floor.  
  
Suddenly the officer was right in front of him and his entire arm swept with full force at Tobias's head. Tobias was thrown to the side, staggered away, head ringing like a thousand bells, fell down by the wall and pulled together as if to protect himself.  
  
The officer followed, grabbing the former Animorph by the neck and lifted him back to his feet. "Stand up to face me, you coward," he spat, pushed Tobias back against the wall and punched him in the chest, sending all air out of his lungs.  
  
Before Tobias could sink down to the floor again - as he had a habit of doing, since the officer disliked it and it was the only defying he could do - the officer had taken a hold of his chin.  
  
"The keys, bird-brain… where did you get the lousy keys?"  
  
"I… found them…" Tobias managed weakly.  
  
The officer stared at him. Then pushed him away in disgust and uttered a few well-chosen curses. "You're not a very good liar, you wretch of a rebel," he muttered, glancing at the guards and then at Tobias, again pulled together by the foot of the wall. "Grab him."  
  
With that, he headed towards the door, the guards following with Tobias. He yanked it open. A hunching shape that could be none other than Rachel tried to get out, past him, but he took a hold of the back of her shirt and threw her back in. The guards followed inside with Tobias and the officer slammed the door shut behind them.  
  
Chained to the other wall in the room was a Taxxon. The special thing about this Taxxon, as Tobias had been unfortunate enough to notice at several times, was that he was extremely underfed. He did not look like the usual large, round centipede; his sides stuck to his skeleton, his legs were even thinner than usual, his claws had shrivelled down to a poor imitation of their former shape from lack of nutrients, and his face was filled with hollows where his skull did not support his skin, his eyes had lost their red gleam and were now a pale orange, and they had sunk down deeply into their sockets. The officer kept him like that for his own, strange reasons.  
  
The result was that the Taxxon was very, very hungry. He would eat anything that came within his grasp. And it need not be meat; he would eat paper, pencils, keys, chairs…  
  
One of the reasons, probably.  
  
Tobias had never believed himself capable of actually pitying a Taxxon, but for this one, he'd make an exception.  
  
"Sreeeee!" whined the Taxxon. His orange-shaded eyes were fixed on Rachel, who was the most wounded of the humans, and thereby the easiest prey.  
  
The officer was holding her by the hair - as usual - and just outside the Taxxon's reach, no matter how much he yanked and pulled at his fetters.  
  
"Tobias," said the officer. "You mentioned not knowing where you got those keys. Maybe this will help you remember."  
  
He took a hold of Rachel's wounded hand and held it out for the Taxxon. The wretched creature struck at once, his yellowed teeth snapping after her fingers. She tried to pull her hand into a fist to keep them away, but his teeth grazed her knuckles and snapped closed around the fingers she could no longer bend. He tore them free with a cry of delight - a cry that was drenched in Rachel's howl of pain.  
  
"No!" Tobias gasped, pulling forwards but being yanked back by the two guards.  
  
"Where did you get the keys, birdbrain?" the officer repeated. He held out Rachel's hand even closer to the Taxxon, but as the Taxxon's teeth slammed closed he pulled them free just in time. "Where?!"  
  
"I found them, I told you!" Tobias wailed. He noticed that Rachel was watching him; but he couldn't read her expression. Was that fear, or defiance? He didn't know.  
  
"Where?" the officer thundered. "My office? The guards? The clinic?!"  
  
"Your office," Tobias said, thinking quickly. "In your drawer, in -"  
  
"LIAR!!"  
  
The officer almost threw out Rachel's arm towards the Taxxon, and the creature stretched out eagerly to grab it. His teeth closed around it, left long scratches on her arm, and easily ripped what remained of her hand away.  
  
Rachel screamed again, maybe more in fury than in pain, and started to kick to break free.  
  
The officer pulled her back from the Taxxon and swung her head against the wall. Rachel's eyes glazed over and she went limp in his grip.  
  
"Better," muttered the officer. Then looked up towards Tobias. "You, bird-brain, are going to tell me exactly where you got those keys, or I'll feed her to this Taxxon, bit by bit… starting with her hands and arms and feet and legs."  
  
He smiled cruelly, eyes glinting dangerously. "Slowly, of course. Because as she starts running out of body parts and chances of survival, you'll start running out of reasons to save her."  
  
"Sreeeeerrrrr!" The Taxxon yanked madly at his chains. He had gotten the taste of flesh and blood in his mouth, and he wanted more.  
  
"Oh, poor thing's hungry," the officer murmured, taking a hold of Rachel's limp arm and holding it out to the Taxxon.  
  
"No!"  
  
The officer hesitated. "The keys, bird-brain. Where?"  
  
"I told -"  
  
"You lied!" the officer drew breath to roar again, but then his eyes narrowed. "You got them from the clinic, didn't you?"  
  
"I -"  
  
But the officer threateningly held out Rachel's arm towards the maddened Taxxon again and spat; "Didn't you?!"  
  
"Yes," Tobias wailed, "Anywhere, just don't -"  
  
The officer let Rachel's motionless form fall to the floor, just out of the Taxxon's reach. "I guessed as much," he said. "That nurse. Probably handed the keys to you personally, did she?"   
  
The Taxxon let out another "sree" of self-pity as he noticed that his chain reached just far enough for him to feel the warmth from his prey but not actually eat it. His teeth snapped at air just millimetres away from her face. Her eyes were open again, but she seemed to have some trouble focusing them. She wasn't aware enough of her surroundings to notice the Taxxon and move away, and so close he was hard to miss.  
  
"Did she?" the officer repeated impatiently.  
  
The Taxxon let out another "sree!" of hunger. Rachel still didn't move.  
  
The officer gave Tobias a sharp look, and Tobias sighed and whispered; "Yes."  
  
The officer nodded at his guards. "Tie something around her arm before she bleeds to death. We can't let her morph, of course. Then get this Taxxon out of here."  
  
The guards saluted, let go of Tobias and did as they were told. A rough piece of cloth was secured around Rachel's arm to slow the bleeding. Then they - carefully - took the Taxxon's chains and forced the miserable creature out of the room, to tie him up somewhere else until the officer told them to bring him back.  
  
Tobias, who had sunk down to sit on the floor, had a very bad feeling. He kept a careful eye on the officer, who had picked up a spare chain from the floor and was inspecting it. Then the officer returned Tobias's look and said; "I'll deal with that nurse later, don't you worry. The bosses will surely let me… teach… her proper manners once they hear about this one. But first, there's someone who needs a punishment." He grinned evilly, whipping the heavy chain through the air to get a feel of its weight. "And you know punishing always is foremost in my mind, my little coward."  
  
Tobias felt the sudden tension in his shoulders and mentally began preparing himself for another beating, and waking up in his cell, dizzy and bleeding. Wouldn't be the first time. Nothing amused the officer as much as 'a good punishment'. But he couldn't help the note of panic that came into his eyes, which the officer noticed and barked a laugh.  
  
"Not you," he said. "Remember my promise." He narrowed his eyes and pointed at the slowly waking Rachel. "Her."  
  
Tobias flew to his feet and had already opened his mouth to cry out a protest when the officer whipped the chain forwards. It caught the side of Tobias's neck and sent him back to the floor.  
  
The officer dropped the chain and gave Tobias a kick before he had any chance of getting up.  
  
"Out," he ordered, pointing at the open door.  
  
Tobias tried to clear his head, forced his arms to obey him and pushed himself up on all fours with some difficulty. But another kick, and he fell and tumbled. "OUT!" Then the officer grabbed his arm and roughly threw him out the doorway. He could hear the door slam shut behind him; heard the lock click into place.  
  
He stayed where he was, feeling drenched, closed his eyes and tried to close out the world around him: his only defence against the thought of what he had caused.  
  
  
  
  
  
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Author's Note;  
  
I know it's taken long to get this up. I got stuck. A number of times. (Might be something about this story just getting worse and worse, and I'm getting tired of writing about pure cruelty - in fact, disgusted by it. It's one-sided and in the end you can't do much with it.)  
  
Review this chapter, and the next one will be up when it's finished. Can't say anything about when that'll be, though. 


	11. Morphing and Cloth

Please forgive me  
  
  
  
  
  
The door opened and the officer came out. Tobias sat, motionless, in a corner, not even looking up. The guards, that had been waiting by the door out into the corridor, exchanged a few words with the officer and one returned to stand at his post while the other left the room.  
  
"Clean up the mess in that room," said the officer to Tobias, flexing his fingers. "And return the girl to her cell. I'll be back in an hour. I expect it to be shining clean by then."  
  
Tobias still didn't look up. He even kept his eyes shut. He heard footsteps as the officer stepped closer. Felt the warmth of his breath as he leaned over him.  
  
"Did you hear me, birdbrain?!" the officer snapped.  
  
Tobias nodded. The officer straightened. Then suddenly leaned back down, quick as a snake, took a hold of Tobias's neck and threw him halfway across the room.  
  
Tobias landed on the floor, pain biting into him as he hit and slid along the stone floor, but still he crawled further away, hearing the ominous, familiar footsteps coming closer again.  
  
Another hold of his neck. The officer pulled him up as if he weighed no more than a rag doll. Tobias raised his arms to protect his face, but they were slammed out of the way. He struggled to be let loose.  
  
"STAY STILL!"  
  
He obeyed instantly, and stopped struggling, now hanging from a grip around his throat that made it very hard to breath.  
  
The officer glared at him. "If," he said, in a low, menacing voice. "If I find that she has been given any water… food… anything whatsoever… if I find out that she woke up too early and saw your ugly face… I'll lock you in a room in the other end of the building and beat her up until even you can hear her screaming. UNDERSTOOD?"  
  
Tobias nodded. Or tried to, with the officer still holding him up by his throat.  
  
"And I don't want to hear anything about you talking to her," the officer continued. "you clean the room, you carry her to her cell, and the guards will watch your every step. One wrong move, and…" his head leaned to the side with a cruel smile as he put Tobias down on the floor again. "you know what will happen."  
  
"Yes, master," Tobias whispered, shaking; if not for any other reason it was because he needed to recapture his breath.  
  
"I'm leaving now," the officer announced. "You have one hour."  
  
"Thank you for teaching me respect, master," Tobias said in a low voice.  
  
The guard that had left the room came back not long afterwards, carrying a bucket filled with water and a single sponge. He grinned evilly at Tobias.  
  
"Good luck, birdbrain," he said.  
  
Tobias took the bucket without a word and walked towards the room.  
  
The floor was red with blood. The walls, halfway up to the ceiling, were stained with the same. He was not sure if they had been before or not; the Taxxon had not been known for his table manners, and the officer had sent a number of prisoners into that room - some alive, and also some dead.  
  
Rachel was near a wall, battered and just as bloody as the floor.  
  
His thoughts were drenched in a wave of panic. He dropped the bucket and it hit the floor with a clang, almost spilling out all the water.  
  
She wasn't breathing!  
  
It wasn't until he came closer that he realised that she was, in fact, still breathing. Weakly.  
  
Tobias knew tears were running down his cheeks as he kneeled next to her. He felt clumsy as he dipped the sponge in the water, and dabbed her face carefully with it. His hands were shaking.  
  
It didn't help much. And especially not since…  
  
"Hey, you! The room, you moron, not the girl!"  
  
Tobias did as he was told, knowing the consequences of refusing. He turned his attention to the floor. And the walls. And, with tears rolling down his cheeks, he began scrubbing.  
  
  
  
Rachel woke in her cell. She thought she had experienced pain, but now her entire body was hurting so much that any other form of pain would have felt like a blessing. The usually agonizing throbbing in her hand was reduced to the tickle of a scratch in comparison with the burning, impossible-to-ignore agony that had taken its place.  
  
Her hand was gone. Simply gone. Her arm was lined with scratches and cuts from Taxxon teeth up to her elbow. Halfway there a piece of cloth had been roughly tied around it to stop the bleeding - but it did not stop the pain.  
  
She forced her eyes open. She was placed, almost gently, it seemed, on a blanket in the corner. The anti-morphing ray was in the opposite corner, and it was the first thing her gaze settled on.  
  
She stared at that hated little gadget, and then suddenly… everything fell into place. She knew what she had to do. Would do. And how. Why had she not thought of it before?  
  
Oh, yes. Tobias; she had not been able to leave without finding out what had happened to him.  
  
But now, she would still have to take care of things herself. She couldn't count on help from Clara. And not from Tobias.  
  
That coward! He'd been unhurt. Fed, and rested, by the looks of it. He should have fought! Why hadn't he fought? Didn't he want to help her? Didn't she matter to him?  
  
She felt tears well up in her eyes and a tightness in her throat, but she pushed Tobias out of her mind and decided not to think about him again.  
  
Forget anyone else. She was on her own.  
  
Groaning from the stabbing pain of moving, she sat up, used the wall as support, and slowly, ever so slowly, got to her feet. She stood unsteadily, back to the wall, her remaining hand holding her head as if it might roll straight off her shoulders.  
  
She stood there until she felt strong enough to move again. Her hand travelled to the torn mass that hung over her shoulder… her hair. She ripped with bloody fingers at the tassels, wishing she'd still had both hands, tears running down her cheeks, beginning to sob helplessly, until she found what she had been looking for.  
  
That pitiful, small piece of porcelain, small enough to hold in her hand but too large to close her fist around without its edges cutting into skin. Heavy for its size; good. She snatched it free, and sank back to the floor in resignation, exhausted. She sat with the piece of porcelain in an open hand, her knees pulled up against her, her wounded arm around them, and forehead leaning down on them.  
  
Again she waited for energy to return to her; waited for that sobbing to subside. When it had, she ripped a strap of cloth from her already ruined clothes and with her one hand - and a whole lot of trouble - tied it firmly around the piece of porcelain, creating a small but firm ball with a sharp edge where the porcelain stuck out. When she was finished, weighing the ball in her hand and deciding it would have to do, she looked up, glaring defiantly at the anti-morphing ray. She got to her feet - although it took some effort - raised her good hand, and threw the ball of cloth and porcelain at the hated object with all the force in her arm.  
  
Somehow, it hit its target. The fragile gadget swayed on its flimsy support, but didn't fall. Rachel dragged herself forward, grabbed the clothball, and threw it again. She missed. But drew herself forwards, grabbed the ball and - jaws clenched tightly together - threw it again.  
  
This time the delicate thing swayed away from the two supporting bars, and fell to shatter on the floor.  
  
Rachel sank back to the floor and sat there, gathering herself, for another few minutes.  
  
Then she began morphing.  
  
  
  
  
  
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
  
Author's Note;  
  
One more to go. Maybe two; I'm not sure. That depends on how upset you readers get at the ending.  
  
Review if you want the next part up. 


	12. Possibly Escape

Please forgive me

The door from her cell to the corridor burst outwards as she slammed down on it with a roar. The guards outside leapt to their feet, but a single swipe of a powerful paw caught them both and threw them heavily against the wall.

Rachel looked around with her limited grizzly vision. She smelled the air with her more sensitive grizzly nose, ears alert to detect any sounds.

It was high time to get out of the prison. But first, she had a score to settle with a certain officer.

He was going to regret ever raising a hand against her. Oh, would he regret it! She'd –

The anger steamed up but Rachel quenched it, calmed it, saving it away for later. She had to find him first. Yes; find him. Then, he'd pay. First, calm down. Yes.

Following her nose, she set off at a loping run down a corridor. She was only dimly aware of people coming into the corridor, barely noticing as she ran them right down without even slowing down, and even more dimly aware of loud bangs and sharp pains on her shoulders and sides and back.

At one time, she stopped and roared and turned towards her tormentors. A few leaps, a few slashes, and the annoying bangs stopped.

She continued towards the officer's room and stopped only when she had reached the door. Another guard stood there – but not for long. Soon, he was lying on the floor, parallel gashes across his face.

She had planned to storm into the room, no hesitations, but now she faltered. Her ears picked up voices from inside. The officer, of course, and another voice; Clara's. The officer was shouting – triumphantly, it seemed – while Clara was shrilly screaming back. Rachel caught the phrases "not my fault" and "your own mistake".

Rachel decided that was about as good a time as any to rush in. She took a breath, raised herself on her hind legs and fell forwards at and through the door.

Clara had pulled away from the officer, closer to the door, and was almost crushed under it as it fell under Rachel's weight. She leapt back with a startled cry. The officer, face already red with rage, now turned from the nurse and to Rachel.

"What the –"

'What' isn't the point as much as 'who', Rachel growled. First time we met I promised I'd tear this place apart. I plan to. Starting with you.

He leapt in behind his desk, quickly opening a drawer and pulling out a gun. But Rachel came forwards and suddenly the desk and drawer and gun weren't there anymore. The officer was thrown back as a large splinter caught his shoulder.

Rachel used her nose to find him again, moving the broken desk away and pushed the officer back down when he tried to turn and crawl away. Then she raised her claws and slashed across his back, before sending a paw to slam into his head, sending him rolling across the floor. When he stopped rolling, she slashed across his chest – not too deep – and struck at his neck with another swipe of her paw.

Get up, she snarled. Get up, you piece of crap!

But when she realised he wouldn't be able to comply she raised her paw again and send him tumbling further, back into the remains of the shattered desk, cursing her own choice of morph. A single careless swipe of her paw could kill him, then how was she supposed to make him suffer?

She gave him another light backhand over his chest, causing him to roll limply away from the desk, wondering what to do. But suddenly she saw things more clearly, even through her rage – what _was_ she doing, really? Trying to figure out a way to make someone suffer a slow, agonizing death? Actually considering her options of keeping him alive to feel enough to feel pain but not have any chances at resisting?

Not very nice. Not a good development. In fact, if this continued, she'd turn almost as bad as the officer had ever been.

Well, she was not going to let him live, either, she decided, the anger flaming up again. She let out a snarl of frustration, flexing her claws, glaring at the officer, annoyed that he caused so much trouble even now. Best to just kill him, she thought finally, before something came and interrupted her and the chance passed.

Rachel raised herself on her hind legs, over the cowering officer, to deliver the last, killing blow.

"No!" Clara leapt in between the two, staring up at Rachel.

Out of my way, Rachel said. Or don't you think he deserves to be killed?

Even in front of the furious grizzly Clara did not hesitate. "I'm a nurse, Rachel, I don't think anyone deserves to be killed."

Out of my way, Rachel growled again, and roared madly.

Clara held her ground, but fear was in her eyes. Rachel swept her aside with what in comparison was a gentle swipe of her paw, but sent Clara flying into a wall. The nurse sank down to the floor with a heavy sob.

Rachel huffed, straightened up again, and glared down at her former tormentor, who now was shaking, barely able to breath through the blood that flowed out of his mouth and nose. His face was ripped open by then, not to mention the rest of him, and if Rachel hadn't been blinded by her limited grizzly vision she would have seen that. Not that it would make a difference; with the hate and fury rushing through her, she would probably have been pleased at the sight.

"Rachel, please," said Clara from her place by the wall. "He'll be dead soon anyway, even if you don't kill him. You'll just give him an easier death."

Rachel spun towards the nurse and roared her response to that.

Clara pulled further away, seeking support from the wall, face pale as ashes. "And there is always the question of getting out alive yourself," she said. "If you keep him alive… you can demorph, and morph him. Then you would be able to leave easily."

I can fight my way out, Rachel spat. I'll coat my route with blood and bones if I have to!

"It's easier," Clara said. "It avoids unnecessary bloodshed. Most of those guards have never done you any harm. They're innocent. Rachel, please!"

Rachel glared down at the officer, and then back at Clara.

"He's done for, whatever we do," Clara said, daring a glance at the bloody heap of human, visibly shaking. "You better hurry."

To Clara's intense relief, Rachel began demorphing – but not without a snarl.

Rachel demorphed back to a body without bruises, without pain, and without that missing hand. She kept an eye on Clara, not really trusting the nurse, but Clara was too frightened to do much else than keep from fainting.

Rachel glared down at the officer. Clara had been right; he was pretty badly beaten. Wouldn't live much longer, whatever anyone did.

Then she remembered what he had done, felt yet another flash of rage and kicked at him for good measure before lowering a hand to acquire him.

Tobias, again freely roaming the corridors after he had convinced his terrified guard that he was the only one able to calm the escaped Rachel down, had hurried towards the officer's room. He stopped at the turn of the corridor, hesitating, wondering if Rachel would have time to recognize him before she attacked.

She was furious. That much was clear. The guard that normally stood outside the officer's room was on the floor, face split into three parts, his neck snapped by the blow he must have received, lying in a puddle of his own blood.

But Tobias heard no grizzly roars. No sounds at all. He waited, watched, wondered if maybe he should –

Then the door to the officer's room opened.

And out came the officer.

Tobias sagged against the wall, pulling back with a stifled sob.

No.

How could he have survived? Impossible. Impossible.

But there he was. Alive. Not closing the door behind him, but leaving it slightly open. Glancing around and then hurrying away in the other direction.

Tobias quenched a desire to despair, pushed fear out of his mind and hurried to the door, glancing inside.

He only saw the floor. And the patches of blood that stained it.

That was enough to make him reel back in horror. All that blood, and the only survivor was the officer… He sank down against the wall and buried his face in his hands.

"Please forgive me, Rach," he whispered. "Please… I should have…"

But with sudden determination, he raised his head, bent down, took the gun from the dead soldier on the floor beside him, and began following the disappearing officer.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Author's Note;

That's the last chapter. Cliffie end, as you might have noticed. *evil laughter* What happens next is up to you readers to figure out.

I decided not to use the sad ending – you can probably figure out what that would have been. But I didn't like the happy ending either. Didn't fit rest of the story. So this is the best alternative.


End file.
